


Skaia City Underground

by twofoldAxiom



Category: Homestuck, Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Attempted Rape, Gen, Humanstuck, I'm Sorry For Ending The Chapter On That Note, Not A Direct Crossover Or Fusion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wormstuck, i guess, more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: Your name is Karkat Vantas. You don't ask for much. You work for Angela, even though she's terrible, and you play shogi with Mrs. Nomura, even thoughyou'reterrible, and when it comes right down to it, sometimes you beat the shit out of people, who are (without fail) terrible.Child-beaters, would-be rapists, crooked cops. If you take a little more satisfaction in it than is strictly heroic, that's on you. You're not cut out for the Skaia City Sentinel thing personality wise and you don't have the schedule flexibility for it either.Just hope you don't run into a supervillain, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know I've been starting a lot of long stories that don't seem to be going anywhere, but this has actually been percolating for a while and I do plan on continuing the rest. Except Cascade. I think that's officially dead, because it's old and terrible.
> 
> But I still love the others, I just had inspiration for this after reading the web novel [Worm, by Wildbow,](https://parahumans.wordpress.com/) which is incredibly dark but really, really good. Highly recommend it if you like multiple narrator stories, superpowers being used in inventive (and horrible) ways, and eldritch abominations of various degrees.
> 
> That said, this is not a direct crossover or even a direct fusion with Worm. I borrowed some elements, mostly the way powers work and probably a few powers that may come in later as I introduce more characters, but none of Worm's characters will appear. Mostly I'll fill in blanks with random OCs.
> 
> Some plot points may echo, but I don't mean for them to. Mostly I'm just having fun, and if you are too, please feel free to comment!
> 
> Or tell me if you spot an error, that'd be deeply helpful.
> 
> Onwards!

“In this report, a sighting of the supercriminal Absinthe has been confirmed in the downtown New Jack district. Police forces and several members of the Skaia City Sentinels have arrived on the scene to neutralize Absinthe and evacuate civilians. We switch to reporter Ashley Charles now on location…”

You snap out of it when your boss snaps her fingers in your face, glittery pink nails flashing just an inch from your nose. Nobody’s lining up to buy anything this late, most people heading home for a proper dinner and an end to the work day. The store is mostly empty except for Mrs. Nomura at the price checker and a gaggle of teenagers looking for snacks, but Angela still scowls at you.

“You can catch up to whatever’s happening after your shift, Vantas; you won’t miss anything important.” She says, voice still rough from last week’s tonsillectomy. Before you say anything, she stops you. “Trina called in sick, but knowing her she’ll be back tomorrow, so we’re closing early. But!” She stops you again, holding up a single, skinny finger as if you were going to say something, before bending down and hefting a box of cans onto the counter with a grunt. “I still need you around for a little longer than your shift, just to make sure. In the meantime, you should put these on the shelf. Be quick and don’t dent any of them this time.”

“Trina again? For f-” She raises an eyebrow. You bite your tongue. 

“Yes ma’am.” You say instead, more to appease her than anything else, and cast one last look at the shitty little box of a TV on the shelf in case you can catch anything before hopping to it. You’d swear that thing belongs in a museum at this point, and you’re amazed it still works. Either way, you tear your eyes away and stop leaning on the counter, and give Angela a mock salute as you pick up the box and hip-check the little door separating you from the rest of the store. A few months ago it would have been too heavy, but now- well, it’s still heavy, but you don’t have to awkwardly slide it across every flat surface on the way to your destination.

The reporter continues on in the background, barely audible while you carefully stack canned mackerel. Again you think, this is it, this is the world you live in. Several years ago, you would never have believed your world would look the way it does today: There are supervillains running amok almost once a week, there’s a team of superheroes that call themselves the Skaia City Sentinels and other teams in other cities just like them, there’s romcoms that revolve around discovering someone’s secret identity or keeping it from someone, and if you’re very lucky you might even see a live, licensed hero at a con.

And then… you’re here, stacking mackerel, covering for a sick coworker and dealing with Angela’s PMS and probably sundry other issues.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you moved out of your childhood home in the suburbs four months ago. You didn’t move far, just into the city proper and into a cheap, kind of shitty apartment where a couple friends were close by enough to help if you ever needed it. Not that you really did, much to your surprise; you’re not saying it was  _ easy _ but beyond helping you set up in the new neighborhood (where to eat, where to shop, where to avoid), you’re largely self-sufficient.

It comes at the cost of working for fucking  _ Angela _ , but most of the customers know you at this hour, so it’s not too awful unless someone you really can’t stand shows up or someone tries to shoplift or there’s a screaming brat in the vicinity.

You place the last can down and pick up the box, passing Mrs. Nomura as she hobbles towards the canned meats you’d just stacked, and head on your way to the back door. It opens into an alley crawling with cats, a couple of which recognize you and immediately start mewling for your attention.

“Oh shut up, you little shits, I don’t have anything for you right now.” You huff, as a pair of calico not-quite-kittens wind their way around your ankles with every step. “I’d swear there’s more of you every day. Does news pass through the kitty vine that this is the place to be for free boxes and the occasional snack?” The one-eyed tom is still here, lounging on one of the drier piles of cardboard. You drop the box next to him and he doesn’t even flinch, though he does tilt his head against your hand when you pet him.

It’s been drizzling steadily the past couple weeks. Skaia City has pretty mild weather, but you don’t want to leave the cats without somewhere relatively dry to stay. One of the mewling mogs nips your ankle and you yelp, pulling away before she can sink her teeth in. 

“Fuck!” You backpedal, nearly slip in a small puddle, and glare at her. “I said I didn’t have anything, you’re not eating  _ me. _ ” You say, and straighten yourself out again before heading back inside. Just in time, too, because Mrs. Nomura is making her way to the counter with her cart. It’s nice that with her, and without Angela watching, you don’t have to plaster a fake smile across your face.

You ring up her purchases and watch the screen while you bag her stuff, barely even thinking about it. The camera is focused on a young man with a winning smile and white-on-gold costume, practically glowing even in the rainy gloom.

“... gotten away, but rest assured good citizens of Skaia City; Absinthe is a slippery one, but we Sentinels hound her and her crew ever closer, and every dastardly escape is narrower than the last!” 

You almost tune out then and there. 

Captain Sunburst gets on your nerves every time you see him, and you don’t even personally know the guy. You’d admire his optimism in the face of adversity, if he wasn’t such a massive goddamn tool, and more importantly if he wasn’t so fucking  _ blithe _ about things like supercriminals slipping from his team’s grasp.

… Though, if you’re being honest, it also really doesn’t help that he calls himself  _ Captain Sunburst _ , and unironically says things like  _ dastardly  _ or  _ tally-ho  _ or fucking  _ razzes my berries _ , all of which you’ve heard him say on air.

He continues talking to the reporter, all chipper good cheer despite the rain seems to be coming down harder, and also despite Absinthe getting away. Mrs. Nomura shakes her head and very lightly pats you on the arm, her hand soft with wrinkles and almost uncomfortably warm.

“It’s awful what some people will do with their powers.” She says, soberly, but when she turns to you she smiles, whole face lighting up with it. “The Sentinels, though; they do good work. They’ve made me feel safer despite going out at this hour.”

“Wish I could say the same.” You try not to sound too bitter, but not particularly hard. Glancing at the screen shows it’s moved on from the Absinthe story. “I don’t think they’ve been around long enough to make me feel any safer when I’m heading home. They have their hands full with bigger things.”

She gives your arm a squeeze, a teasing sparkle in her eye. “You should join, maybe. Strapping, helpful young men with a sense of what’s good should be in the world are always in short supply, and I know how much you always want to help everyone. It would be nice, to have a hero in this district.”

You can’t help smiling, tight and terse. “You say that, but I’d need superpowers I don’t have. Besides. If I worked for the Sentinels, I wouldn’t be here to help you carry your bags.” You say, and she leans her weight into you a moment to shake your arm with a chuckle, readjusting her slippers.

“ _ Very  _ true. You spoil me, and not just because you let me win against you at shogi. Now, before anything else, could you help me to my car?”

Your expression softens, as much as it ever does. You neglect to mention that she legitimately kicks your ass at board games.

You can see her car outside the rain-flecked window. You glance around for Angela before picking up her bags. “Lead the way, Mrs. Nomura.”

~!~

They aren’t her groceries, not really. It’s Sunday, which means her friends will be coming over to play shogi and eat sandwiches and tell blatant lies about their youth, laughing uproariously at the dirty bits (you’re pretty sure they’re dirty, but you can’t really tell because it’s all in Japanese.)

If you could be there to help her prepare snacks, you might stay a while, play a couple rounds, and shittalk Angela with Mrs. Nomura’s little club. Instead you tell her you’ll be working late and she tells you to be safe on the way home, presses a roll of mints into your hand, and drives away. 

Normally, on Sundays, she offers to drive you home so you can help her make sandwiches. You mentally curse Trina and Angela and a few other people for making your day as it is, especially now that even the nights are sticky-hot and you’ll be walking home in that.

You head back inside and sigh, frowning when you notice that the gaggle of teenagers are gone. When you check the aisles they were in, your suspicions are proved right and a couple packets of Oreos, a bag of Cheetos, and a few individual cans of beer are gone, too.

“For  _ fuck’s _ sake.” You resist the urge to kick a shelf, whatever levity Mrs. Nomura gave you rapidly dissolving. “Angela!”

This is not your night.

Three hours later, after a report on what’s missing and a chewing-out that’s only less vitriolic than it could be because Angela can’t yell while her throat is healing, you’re locking up the store and the rain is back to a drizzle, and you zip up one jacket before picking up the other, considering it again, shaking your head, and wearing it inside-out.

You look like an even bigger tool than Captain Sunburst, but you’ve snipped the raggedness from the seams enough that it doesn’t look like it’s inside-out if nobody looks too closely. It’s been a while since this was even necessary, but you do it anyway.

You pass through the back as usual, saying goodbye to the cats after leaving them what remains from today’s lunch. You tear open the packet of mints with your teeth and chew through them until your mouth is numb and your nose is getting there.

Halfway home, you stop.

You listen.

It’s a familiar pattern. 

“Come on,” “I said leave me alone,” “Just this once, baby,” “I said no,” “Hey, you owe me,” “I said  _ no _ ,” “You’re not going anywhere”

It settles over you like the rain just came down harder.

You take in the surroundings. No people, not out in the rain right now anyway. An alley up ahead, where the sounds are coming from. Another alley just behind you. You see a dumpster, and a shape that may be a body.

Nobody you can get to help her.

“Help!” “Shhh, it’s fine, baby”

You grit your teeth and duck into the alley.

It’s a quick change. It’s meant to be. You fish the surgical mask out of your pocket and put it on, painted fangs outwards. You turn your jacket right-side out, revealing the bright, winding pattern of a snake painted on that, and put it on that way.

You reach into the inner pocket and pull out a switchblade. The edge still reflects swirls of color, not unlike a fine sheen of crude oil.

When you head towards them, he doesn’t see you coming, but she does.

“Help me!”

“I said shut-”

You strike, a jerk of the arm to slash the blade across the small of his back. Shallow, but he screams like an animal and whirls around in fury. You’ve already darted back enough that he’ll have to follow you, and there’s more than enough space in the alley for you to work.

He’s bigger than you, a head taller, topheavy. The rain makes your footing unsteady, will work against him more.

He lunges when you do, but you twist away at the last second and the knife bites into his shoulder.

Your name is Karkat Vantas. Some nights, you go by Copperhead.

This is one of those nights.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit August 27, 2018: I wasn't satisfied with how the old version of this chapter went, so I changed up a bunch of details. I hope this version flows much better into the next chapter!

He doesn’t get the time to take in what you’re doing before you jab the knife back, right into his hip, and kick him hard in the solar plexus. Your grip keeps the knife pointed upwards and you can feel about an inch and a half of it buried in tightly tensed flesh before it slides right out from where he’s pushed back and gripping the wound in agony. The girl is screaming and he’s swearing, and overall it’s a mess before you grab him by the shoulder and bodily pull him forward with all your weight, letting go to let momentum pitch him over before he can grab you.

The wounds probably make a circuit of pain all the way up and down that side even right now. He’s pissed, but he’s bleeding and stinging and you made sure to make this costume obvious up-close, if not from afar. You’re shorter than he is and slightly crouched, so you look even smaller, but clearly that knife is giving him second thoughts.

You growl as best you can. “Get out of here, now.”

He doesn’t take the hint, which would be interesting if it weren’t for the situation you were in. Instead he lunges towards you again, clumsy on his hurt leg but big and crushing-strong. His would-be victim is at least clever enough to throw herself out of the way but she doesn’t need to, you’ve already gotten under his guard and stabbed him again, this time pushing the little knife deep, right above his groin, in the tense meat where it would hurt just to poke.

He screams as the pain probably follows his movement, down his leg and up to his armpit and probably all the way to his dick, and all four places you’ve cut into him so far would be white-hot with pain from your own experience, bleeding into each other. You let go of the knife and punch him hard in the throat, knocking him back again, and this time he doesn't get up, curled up on his side and coughing.

Fifteen seconds. It’s okay, as far as your records go.

"The fuck-" He can't get enough air between words, stopping to cough. "The fuck!” He wheezes, but you ignore him, stepping on his hand while he thrashes in pain. The venom won’t kill him, but you've got a pretty short window to hammer the message home regardless.

“Don’t pull it you idiot, do you  _want_ to die?” You stomp on one of his hands, feel the crunch of breaking fingers and hear him retch. There’s a vicious sort of thrill in it that you know you’ll be sick with later. “I'm watching _her,_  I'm watching this entire  _neighborhood_ , and if you ever come by and try anything like this again, I'm just  _waiting_  for an idiot like you to make the same mistake  _twice_.”

He's still wheezing but now there's a whimper in it, and his eyes are rolling with panic. You sneer and crouch down, pulling his head up by the hair so close you can see the bright red of your mask's reflection in his eyes.

"Remember: This is Copperhead territory.”

The girl’s long gone. You kick him in the side one more time, in the ribs, not hard enough to break them but it’ll  _burst_ with pain from the venom still affecting him. “I’m going to call the cops, but that’s as far as my sympathy extends."

You fish through his pockets, find his phone, and make the call.

When the cops get there they find him clutching his wounds and his broken hand, sick with pain, but no wounds besides the ones you’d inflicted earlier. He insists he’s dying, but that’s just the pain from the venom doing its work; that'll be scaring him the entire way he's headed to the hospital. They look for whoever made the call, of course, but you can fake a frightened would-be victim well enough if you try that they won't be looking very far now that you're gone, and now that there's apparently a psychopath with poison-laced knives running around.

You watch from a third floor fire escape as the cop cars pull out of the way before you crack your spine and shoulders, and sigh. You have no idea how many of these assholes actually take you seriously once they recover from their wounds, and it's not like you're even physically capable of backing some of those threats. Still, you're actually getting ready to look around just a little longer, while you still have energy to spare. It's not every night you aren't feeling too overworked to do it.

The world shifts a little sideways.

“You handled that pretty well." The cape beside you, her expression doesn't change but you get the distinct feeling you handled that terribly. She pushes herself off the wall and closer to you in the dim light and you think, how did you miss her? The teal-and-red mask is an eyesore, and her filed, serrated teeth are unmistakable as she gets in your space. You recognize the white N over her chest, though; it's the one other color or lack thereof on her costume, looking like it was bleached off. “If it were up to me, I’d have called the cops  _before_ beating the shit out of that guy, you know?”

“Didn’t have time.” You say. Nevermind chuckles and looks down at where there's little more than scuffed grime and garbage left of what had happened just a moment earlier, or at least you assume she's looking down instead of just tilting her head. The mask only shows her mouth and nose, and she wears a hood over her hair.

"'Didn't have time' could mean a lot of things. Let's narrow it down. Didn't want to make the effort, or didn't have the energy or forethought? You didn't do anything for the girl, probably traumatized now so that's a potential trigger event I'll have to watch out for. And you just wasted your energy on a crime that didn't have a whole chance of happening right just then." She clicks her tongue, snapping her head towards you so fast your neck hurts just watching. "You can't be everywhere at once."

"I don't mean to be, and that's a shit way of looking at what I do." You bristle, but she's blocking the only way down that you won't hurt yourself taking. You lean against the railing too, but you don't relax, waiting for something to go wrong. “I'm trying to keep things from  _becoming_  crime scenes. What, you just here to chastise me on my methods?”

“No.” She says, crossing her arms, but that razor-grin never leaves her mouth. “I’m actually here to commend you. You’ve got a lot going for you: You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, you’ve got routes you take nightly, and you’re clearly doing this for some sense of the greater good. It’s… refreshing. Idealistic. A little unpolished, but workable.”

That she knows you have routes makes you straighten. “What are you getting at?”

“Why aren’t you registered or licensed?” Her voice cuts through the evening air like a whipcrack. She chuckles again in the wake of your silence. “Don’t give me that look, I’d have recognized you if you were.”

“I’m not giving you a look.” You lie, further unsettled. Nevermind’s classed as a Stranger, but that’s pretty much  _all_ anyone knows. Could be a Thinker, too, some speculate. Nobody knows how her power works. You’re not pleased that she can tell you don’t have license and registration either way.

“Everyone gives me a look when I say things like that.” She answers, tapping long, sharp nails against the bracer on her forearm.  _Clackity, clackity, clackity._ It’s distracting. “And you’re too  _direct_ to be unnoticeable. But it's admirable, I’m not a fan of handling the grabby types with kid gloves myself. Makes a good impression on them, too. Also means I can look for you in the records by your style, and come up empty.” Her smile widens.

“What if I’m just a regular vigilante, then?” You shrug. “There are non-parahumans that do this kind of thing too, you know.”

“Unless you’re also some kind of underground fighter when you’re not ‘on the prowl’, so to speak, that’s not likely in your case." She jerks her chin at you like she's pointing at all of you. "You don't walk like you've had any training and you don't fight like you really know what you're doing. You've got practice, but the kind that came from getting the shit beat out of you on a semi-regular basis, before you figured out how to be quick and mean and quick to be mean. Either you don't have powers and I should arrest you now,  _or..."_

She lets that hang between the two of you. You're just about to crack when she speaks again.

“I'm kidding. I know you have  _something_  going on, I just don't know what. Yet." She snickers, and it's the most annoying sound in the world. "Technically, I should report you for excessive use of brutality in dealing with this kind of issue, but I think I have a better idea. I’ll let you do your thing, but I’m going to keep checking up on you, giving you leads, seeing where you go and what you do with it. Maybe you’ll register and license sometime. Maybe you’ll be one of my rogues. Who knows.” She climbs up onto the railing, balanced on the balls of her feet as she looks down at you and you feel a dizzying sense of vertigo. “I like you. Expect to hear from me. Or don’t.”

She holds out her hand and drops something, which your eyes follow.

A coin falls at your feet, tails-up.

You’re standing on a fire escape in an empty alley. You see the signs of a scuffle below, but nothing that the rain won’t wash away. How long have you been standing here like an idiot? You check the time on your cellphone and the night's catching up to you already, but you're ten minutes from home and you shouldn't be this tired. You weren't this tired earlier. This shouldn't have taken so much out of you.

You climb down the fire escape and spare a weird little stray thought that at least you didn’t jump. On the ground you look around a little, fold away your knife, and peel off your gloves and mask. You wrap all of it up in the mask and put it in your jacket’s outer pocket, before turning it inside-out again and hurrying home.

You can hear Mrs. Nomura’s radio tuned to some obscure J-pop station from her window, distant laughter and rapid fire Japanese intermingled with it, which means she’s probably talking shit about the other tenants (including you, but you could never confirm without understanding a word) to her visiting friends. You check the time again and you think, hey, she probably won’t mind too much if you’ve come in late.

You also think you need to calm down a little from the adrenaline anyway, so you head upstairs and knock. Mrs. Katsuki from down the hall opens the door and makes that noise all of Mrs. Nomura’s friends make that you can never tell is delight, surprise, or concern, but she ushers you in and calls to everyone so they cluster around you like a little gaggle of hens.

“You should have let me bring you home! You’re soaked! It rained?” Mrs. Nomura laughs bright and teasing as she hands you a a mug of tea and a tiny sandwich. The mug is hot in your hands, which you’re grateful for, and someone drapes a towel over your shoulders. “Come in, come in! Minako is about to win a round of jenga for once in her life!”

You hear a clatter and what you assume is a swear.

“Or not.”

The other ladies titter as Mrs. Sato glares at the toppled jenga tower. All seven of you converge around the coffee table and the too-plush chairs and threadbare couch arranged in a sort of square around it, and you spend a good couple hours unwinding and being asked uncomfortable questions by Mrs. Nomura’s friends. By the time you leave, you’ve had three of Mrs. Nomura’s sandwiches, a small tupperware bowl of some kind of beans from the basket Mrs. Katsuki brought with her, and probably a whole pot of tea to yourself. You promise them you’ll come earlier next time, and bring something to eat, too, or at least help Mrs. Nomura cook and maybe set out the games. You feel bad for letting her go on her own to do that, but she reassures you that she knows you like a little quiet on a walk sometimes.

You can hear them downstairs still, cracklymusic and old lady chattering and the occasional thrown item. It’s amazing how rowdy some little old ladies can get when they get together. 

Your roommate is, well, who knows where, so the shared apartment is quiet but for the increasing sound of rain outside. You strip down and take a shower, do a little cleaning on your knif,e and set your jacket and gloves on the radiator to dry. When you get back to your room, there’s something on your bed. It looks like a Rubix cube, but much smaller. About the size of a flashdrive, and all the interlocking tiles are blue.

You frown and, approaching as slowly as you can, yank the blanket out from under it. It clatters loudly to the floor with more weight than it should, and you panic, throwing yourself behind your plastic desk chair like it might save you if anything goes wrong.

When it  _doesn’t_ explode, after like two minutes, you come closer and pick up the flat sheet of plastic it’s left behind, an almost-smooth rectangle of opaque, mirrorlike blue. You tap it, wondering what the fuck kind of toy Davis left behind, and it lights up with a message.

This is an encrypted device. Tinker-tech, so you may speak freely. Talk to us through this. Nevermind will be watching your progress.

Good luck, Copperhead. We hope you decide to join the Sentinels someday, and if not, then that you can aid us in keeping Skaia City safe all the same.

-Trojan

Nevermind and Trojan, if not someone impersonating them. You scoff and tap it again and it folds back into flashdrive shape, though this time smoother, and a tab hangs off the top with a hole in it. It still hasn't exploded, so you hunt around for something to put it in, find a sock, and hide it in that. You stare at it for maybe another five minutes before shutting it in the bottom of your sock drawer and flopping onto your bed.

Nevermind and Trojan, two of the more mysterious members of the Skaia City Sentinels. What would they want with you? You can think of a few things, and none of them seem right. You glance down at the sock drawer and half expect the thing you stuffed into it to crawl back out.

You’ve been noticed, and you don’t think you like it.


End file.
